A Lesson In Inevitability
by clokkerfoot
Summary: Sherlock is a student at Morton Grange, and he is having issues with being in a boarding school, surrounded by idiots. His boyfriend-stroke-roommate has left, and he is getting a new roommate, and project partner, John Watson. He is not an idiot.


"But, dad! I want to stay here! Morton Grange is practically my home now. I have friends, I'm right in the middle of my... dad, I don't... I know she's gone but you can't just... dragging me out of school is not going to bring her back! Oh, god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like... dad? Dad? Dad?"

Sebastian's voice had gradually gotten higher as the phone call had gone on, and now he was nearly yelling. He dropped his mobile on the floor, and let out a snarl of frustration, his face contorted with discomfort.

"I. Fucking. _Hate_. My. Dad." he growled, kicking his phone across the freshly cleaned floor, grimacing at the loud _clunk_ it made as it collided with the wall.

"Damaging your mobile isn't going to make him any less irritating." Sherlock was sat, back rod straight on his perfectly made bed, watching as Seb fumed and paced the room.

"What would you fucking know? Your parents are perfect!" Seb turned his steely gaze on to Sherlock, his eyes burning with loss, fear and undiluted rage.

Sherlock flinched at the 'accusation', memories of a restricted childhood, private education, and a uptight, controlling household brimming to the surface of his mind, anxiety making him tremble._ No_, he told himself firmly, _those thoughts were suppressed long ago. You shall __**not**__ bring them up now._

"I do not have perfect parents, Seb, and you know that perfectly. Do not joke about my family. Ever. Now, tell me what the big deal is." Sherlock said flatly, returning Seb's cold look.

"My bloody dad wants to take me out of Morton Grange, because mum died. God, I don't want to fucking leave! Making me leave all of my friends behind isn't going to make this any better, for fuck's sake!" Seb angled his face towards the floor, hiding the tears that Sherlock knew would appear from mention of Seb's recently deceased mother, "I don't bloody want to go."

Sherlock stood up and walked over to Seb, every step echoing across the perfectly organised room. He placed one hand on Seb's shoulder, and patted his back lightly, in what he hoped to god was a comforting gesture. Seb shrugged his support off, both literally and metaphorically. Sherlock frowned.

"Well, fuck this. I gotta go. He's coming for me in one hour, and I've gotta be ready. Fuck!" Seb knelt next to his bed, reaching under with one arm to pull out his old, battered green suitcase. Sherlock had always despised his case. It was neon lime, for god's sake!

Seb yanked said case open, and started throwing clothes into it, his poker face nearly burning a hole in the floor. Sherlock walked over to the bookcase, and started picking out Seb's books, tossing them towards his soon-to-be ex-roomate, who caught each and every one with precision.

An awful silence filled the room, and the only sound was of the books hitting Seb's palm, of the placing of the books into the case, the rustle of clothes, and the infuriated breathing of Seb. Sherlock was left with his thoughts, which were troubled and confused.

_Why would the death of a parent make the remaining parent want to take their child out of a school where they are plainly happy? Sentiment? Comfort? What is the **point**? The parent would probably only be harming the child further, by extracting them from a controlled and familiar environment, and placing them in an new, unexpected one. Seb would be far happier here that he would be with his father, who is clearly an alcoholic. Seb would also be safer her. Perhaps I can contact his father, persuade him to reconsider..._

Sherlock was roused from his thoughts as Seb's case shut, with a resounding _click_. A sound which signified his leaving. There was no going back now.

"I guess I better head down to the common room, eh?" Seb stood up, pulling his case upright with him, a sad smile playing across his face.

"Yes." Sherlock couldn't speak. He was about to lose the only friend he had ever had, and there was nothing he could do to stop it, nothing he could say to prevent it. And, oh god, what would he say?  
>"Goodbye... Sherlock." Seb released his hold on his case, and stepped forward, taking Sherlock into his arms, a feat that not many people could do, considering Sherlock's height. Seb <em>was <em>quite tall. And he had said his _proper name_. Was Seb trying to damage Sherlock irreparably?

Sherlock squirmed awkwardly in the hug, then admitted defeat, wrapping his arms around Seb in a gesture of affection. Damn, he was going to miss him.

And there they stood for several seconds, before they both seemed to realise that _they couldn't be doing that._

"Will... will you miss me?" Seb asked the question that Sherlock had been waiting to hear.

"Yes, Sebby. I will." Sherlock pulled away from the embrace, standing an arms length away from Seb.

"Good. Same." Seb stepped forward, and pressed his lips softly to Sherlock's, the familiar gesture warming Sherlock's whole body, making his toes tingle with a refined pleasure. Sherlock reapplied his physical contact with Seb, gripping him tightly at the gentle kiss deepened, tongues flicking over lips, teeth tingling. Finally, Seb tugged away, licking his lips with his uniquely talented tongue.

"Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes. Have a good life."

And, with a final, brief kiss, Sebastian Wilkes picked up his lime-green suitcase, marched straight out of room 221 at Morton Grange, and walked out of Sherlock's life.

And Sherlock sat on his bed, held his head in his hands, and cried.

OoOoO

"Holmes?"

Sherlock turned sharply at the sound of his English teacher's voice, his eyes widening. Teachers never spoke to students one-to-one. It just didn't happen. They were separate from students, even though they share lavatories, showers, dorm buildings... they were just different. The English teacher was different, though. He seemed more friendly and outgoing than the other teachers. Always a good tutor to have.

"Mr Lestrade?" Sherlock walked towards his desk, waiting patiently for either a punishment, or a comforting talk. He did not need either of them.

"Your roomate, Sebastian, has left, has he not?" Sherlock nodded, "So you are currently alone in your project?" he nodded again, "Ah, well, there is a new student joining this class tomorrow, I think. He will be needing a partner. Would you mind?"

"Not at all, sir." Sherlock's lie slid oh-so-easily off his tongue. No need to cause hassle.

"Fantastic!" Lestrade clapped his hands once, and stood up, smiling at his student, "His name is John Watson, he is the same age as you, he isn't exceptionally bright; more of a rugby player. I think you can manage him. I just want to see if he can manage you."

Lestrade smiled softly, and gestured for Sherlock to leave.

He obliged.

OoOoO

His bed was soft. Sherlock had never noticed that. His bed was soft, warm, comfortable... divine. He lay back, resting his head on the fluffy pillow, gazing up at the cream paint – chipped – on the ceiling. He tilted his head, looked at Seb's old bed, a frown forming on his face. God, he missed him. Seb was practically family. He'd supported Sherlock, when others had bullied him and excluded him, and he had never been horrible. Maybe that was because Sherlock was probably the only gay person in the school who actually accepted that fact, and acted on it. Maybe Seb had just been using him for pleasure. Maybe Sherlock had meant nothing to Seb. Fury, mixed with confusion, roiled within him, and he grimaced, turning his gaze back to the ceiling, venting his feelings towards the disgusting shade of cream chosen to decorate a male's bedroom. Disgusting.

Sherlock closed his eyes, attempting to calm his ever-active mind. Why couldn't he just have a normal brain, be a normal human? _But look at what you can do_, a voice in his head whispered, _normal people can't do that, Sherlock Holmes. Do you really want to be normal?_

"Oh, piss off." he said aloud, turning on his side in a cliché 'sulk' position.

Silence. The thud of his heart. The steady huff of his breathing.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Sherlock sat up straight. Who would knock at _his_ door? A commonplace bully, here to mock Sherlock about his sexuality? Lestrade coming to talk about the project? Who?

He stood up, and walked slowly towards the door. Hand on the handle.

_**Knock, knock, knock.**_

"Yes, alright!" Sherlock threw open the door.

A stranger was stood there. He had a nervous look on his rounded face. Sandy-coloured hair, blue eyes, slightly plump lips, a small smile playing across said lips.

"Hello." his voice was soft, small, gentle. It matched his face perfectly.

"Hello. You are..?" Sherlock gazed at the stranger, who was oddly cute, for a blue-eyed boy. Blue eyes usually repelled Sherlock, for some unknown reason.

The cute stranger held up a bag, and gestured towards a black suitcase at his side, smiling gently.

"I'm your new roomate!" he gesticulated, swinging the bag over his shoulder.

"I wasn't aware I was receiving a new roomate. There is no new... ah. John Watson?" Sherlock's brain clicked. This was the mysterious John that Lestrade had told him about. His project partner. He had known nothing about him being his new roomate. Seb had only left yesterday, for god's sake.

"Yes! That's me! Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Sherlock stepped aside, and the boy- John, walked in, dragging his case behind him. His gaze roamed over the room, and he smiled.

"This could be nice. This could be very nice." he said softly.

"That's your bed, Watson." Sherlock gestured towards Seb's old bed, sitting down on his own, his eyes darting over John, evaluating him.

John smiled at Sherlock, and placed his bag on the bed, sliding his case underneath it.

"Watson?" John asked.

Not used to the methods of communication in boarding schools, it seems.

"We don't address fellow students by their first names unless they are 'intimate', or on exceptionally good terms." Sherlock explained, shuffling backwards so he was against the wall, "For example, you are Watson, I am Holmes, and my ex-roomate was Wilkes. Or, to me, Seb."

John gaped.

"Seb? Short for Sebastian? I'm replacing Sebby?" John laughed.

Sherlock's hand twitched. John's laugh was magical, like a pealing bell, ringing through the dank flat. What a beautiful laugh.

"You know Seb?"

"Of course I do! He's dating my sister's best friend! I used to see him all the time, when Harry brought Polly and Seb over."

Dread, fear, and shock swept over Sherlock. He felt his chest squeeze, and he grimaced.

"Sebastian was dating a woman?"

"He still is, Sherlock. Since last year."

Sherlock frowned. So he had been using him. A free shag while he was away from his girlfriend. Anger rippled through him.

"Wait, you said only people on intimate terms called eachother by their first names. And people who are on exceptionally good terms. Were you shagging Sebby?" John laughed again. It didn't seem so nice, now.

"Yes. You might as well know the worst about me, Watson. Okay, I am gay. I play the violin, but I play it well. I am bullied. I will either talk constantly, or be silent for days on end. I often stay up late. And, to emphasise, I. Am. Gay." Sherlock had never admitted that out loud, before. That was a good achievement.

John just laughed.

"I don't care. I'm much worse than you!" he chuckled, and sat on his bed.

"You aren't worried that I will shag you in the night?" what an odd response.

"Not at all, because I know you won't." John grinned, and lay down on his bed, shutting his eyes.

"Tired, Watson?" Sherlock recovered quickly.

"Yeah, I am, actually. I'm going to sleep, Holmes. It's been a bloody long day. G'night." John turned on his side, still fully dressed, and began snoring within minutes.

Sherlock just sat, staring at the gently moving figure of John Watson, thinking.

_So, he had an incredibly cute roomate, who's sister's best friend was dating Sherlock's ex-boyfriend. His sister was called Harry - short for Harriet? - and this was his first time at a boarding school. He was going to be Sherlock's project partner, and his roomate for the next six months._

Sherlock lay on his bed, staring once again at the horrid ceiling. He closed his eyes, cleared his mind, and relaxed.

_Tomorrow is a new day, he thought, and I shall learn more about John then._


End file.
